


tangled up in knots (and you)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [46]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Christmas, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mild Injury, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s probably going to hit his head, which means that he's going to have a concussion on Christmas <i>again</i> and-</p>
<p>Instead of landing square on his head, he lands in a pair of arms. A very muscular pair of arms. A pair of arms attached to broad shoulders, which lead up to a face with piercing green eyes, close trimmed stubble framing a sharp jaw, and a blush reaching all the way up to the person’s ears.  It’s a very gorgeous face and, based on both the blush and the wide eyes, the person it belongs to is just as bewildered and confused as Stiles is.</p>
<p>On second thought, maybe the concussion would have been better. </p>
<p>or: the first five times Derek catches (or almost catches) Stiles (and one more time it happened, long after they lost count).</p>
            </blockquote>





	tangled up in knots (and you)

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the 2015 Sterek Secret Santa, as a present for dontbesuchasourwollf! all mistakes are mine.

****

**i.**

Stiles is _not_ a Christmas person.

Sure, there are a few things he likes about the holiday. He likes getting time off of work, gorging himself on food, spending time with his family and friends that he only sees every so often and, loathe as he is to admit it, he actually likes coming back to Beacon Hills for a few days, even though he’d spent most of high school hoping to flee the place and never come back.

But the list of things he hates about the Christmas season is much longer than the list of things he enjoys. Sure, he’s willing to admit that some of his hatred is irrational, but that doesn’t lessen the fact that Stiles can’t stand eggnog, Christmas carols, the texture of tinsel or the unique form of pain that comes with stumbling into a Christmas tree while drunk.

But, as much as Stiles hates all of the above (seriously, just _smelling_ eggnog makes his stomach turn), there is one thing that tops the list of what he hates about Christmas and this time, this hatred is completely rational.

Christmas lights. Christmas lights are the actual devil. Especially when they are incredibly twisted together, knotted strings of Christmas lights.

Every year without fail, as soon as Stiles steps through the door of his dad’s house, he gets given two things: a tight hug and a massive box of lights that has been hauled down from the attic. Stiles is pretty sure they’ve had the same box since he was in middle school. It’s held together by multiple pieces of duct tape and the lights don’t actually fit in it anymore; they spill out at the top in tangled curlicues that make Stiles mad just to look at.

But, every year, as soon as his dad steps away from the hug, he points at the box and says one thing:

“None of Melissa’s turkey until those are up.”

And, well, at the time, Stiles usually considers that to be an acceptable deal. Still, as soon as he actually gets outside, he becomes more and more convinced that going one Christmas without Melissa’s turkey (delicious as it is) would be worth not having to deal with the damn box of lights.

He spends twenty minutes sitting on the lawn, freezing his ass off and trying to work out some of the knots. The damn lights keep getting caught in the loose threads on his gloves and by the time he finally gives up and throws them back towards the house, he’s managed to rip a hole in both of them.

By the time he finally manages to get a decent sized string of lights untangled, he’s gone from freezing to sweating. He wipes one arm across his brow before hopping to his feet and dragging the box over to one of the trees near the front door. Conveniently, his dad has already gotten their ladder out of the garage. It’s leaning against the tree trunk, looking significantly more dented than last Christmas. When Stiles sets it up, it becomes even more apparent that something has happened to it; the ground around the tree is fairly even, but the ladder _definitely_ has a slight tilt to it.

But when he puts his foot on the first rung, it seems to stabilize, so he shrugs before climbing higher, holding the untangled strand of Christmas lights in his right hand.

He carefully strings the lights through the branches that he can reach, trying to drape them in ways that won’t result in even more snarls. The string is longer than he expected; after ten minutes of pulling it from the box, he still hasn’t come across the end, which he’ll need to trail down the trunk so they can plug it into the extension cord snaking along the side of the house. He simply shrugs and just keeps pulling on the strand, which is miraculously free of tangles even beyond the point that he stopped working on it.

Maybe for once, he’ll be able to finish up before it gets dark.

He’s just begun to think about texting Lydia and Malia and seeing if they’re back in town when everything goes wrong.

When he shifts to pull more lights from the box, he’s jerked backwards, as the plug for the lights lodges into one of the holes in the box that isn’t quite covered by duct tape. Stiles’ stomach drops to the ground, but he manages to get his free hand wrapped around the top rung of the ladder before he falls.

He has enough time to take a breath before things continue to go south.

The ladder wobbles just enough for one of its legs to lift off the ground, but it’s enough for Stiles’ feet to slip. His hand is so slick with sweat that it slides right off the top rung when he tries to grasp it again. In the moments before he starts falling through the air, a zillion thoughts race through his head. It’s not like the ladder is that high, but most of the time when he falls, he tends to land more like a piece of toast than a cat. He’s probably going to hit his head, which means that he’s going to have a concussion on Christmas _again_ and-

Instead of landing square on his head, he lands in a pair of arms. A very muscular pair of arms. A pair of arms attached to broad shoulders, which lead up to a face with piercing green eyes, close trimmed stubble framing a sharp jaw, and a blush reaching all the way up to the person’s ears.

It’s a very gorgeous face and, based on both the blush and the wide eyes, the person it belongs to is just as bewildered and confused as Stiles is.

On second thought, maybe the concussion would have been better. 

“Uh. Delivery for Stiles Stilinski?” the man says hesitantly. His eyes flick downward and Stiles follows them to a large package sitting on the ground next to the traitorous box of Christmas lights. The package has a large red bow wrapped around it and bears the logo of a bakery downtown that makes the most amazing red velvet cupcakes Stiles ever tried.

(And he’s tried a lot of them. Red velvet cupcakes are high on the list of things Stiles irrationally loves, right above bunk beds and movie novelizations.)

“Uh, hi, that’s me. Um.” Stiles opens and closes his fingers a few times, unsure of what to do with his hands. The man is still blushing underneath his dark stubble and his arms are still wrapped underneath Stiles’ waist and the bend of his knees.

“Uh,” Stiles continues, kicking his feet slightly. “Could you maybe…”

“Oh. Right,” the man mutters before immediately letting go. Somehow, Stiles lands on his feet and only stumbles a few inches before he regains his balance. He manages to look up at the man for a few seconds before his face starts burning painfully and he immediately diverts his attention back to the package, which still looks remarkably solid for having been dropped straight onto the ground.

“So, who’s the delivery from?” he asks, jamming his hands into his pockets and resisting the urge to either kick the box of lights or run inside and slam the door.

“Lydia Martin. There’s a dozen red velvet cupcakes,” the delivery man says, picking the package up before practically shoving it into Stiles’ chest. “Already paid for.”

“Oh. Awesome.” Stiles says. “Thanks. And thanks for catching me. Those are some pretty good reflexes you’ve got there.” The man doesn’t say anything, but he does raise one of his thick eyebrows.

Stiles groans. There’s nothing that could make this situation better.

Mercifully, there’s also nothing (that he can think of, at least) that could make it worse.

“Well, thanks for the cupcakes. I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe.” The man’s lips quirk up into what _might_ be his version of a smile before he turns and strides down the driveway towards the black Camaro idling on the curb. Stiles waits until the car has pulled away before he sinks to the ground, leaning back against the tree beside the damn ladder.

When he opens the package, there’s a note sitting on top of the thin parchment paper covering the cupcakes. Stiles instantly recognizes Lydia’s handwriting, even though it’s been years since they were in school together.

_We’re not going to be home until after Christmas so until then, enjoy the cupcakes._

Both Malia and Lydia have signed at the bottom and Stiles smiles before pushing aside the paper to grab the first cupcake. They’re just as delicious as he remembers, soft and filled with cream cheese in the middle.

By the time he finishes his second, his stomach is protesting and he’s managed to analyze whatever the hell just happened. He’s been going to the bakery since high school and he’s never seen Delivery Guy around. Maybe he’s just some family from out of town or some extra help that’s been hired for the holidays.

Maybe if he’s lucky, Stiles ponders as he grabs a third cupcake, he’ll never have to see Delivery Guy again.

**ii.**

Stiles is not a lucky man.

Two days after he arrives home for Christmas, Melissa asks him to go to the bakery and pick up a cheesecake she ordered to coincide with Scott and Kira flying in from New York. Stiles tries to get out of the errand; he comes up with excuses, he feigns a headache, he tells Melissa that he’s too embarrassed to ever show his face in there again.

If it was his dad asking, Stiles would probably make it through half of his planned rant before his dad simply sighed and decided to do it himself. But Melissa is different. Melissa simply stands in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed against her chest, head tilted slightly. She doesn’t move until Stiles has completely run out of things to say and is actually panting with the exertion of talking so quickly.

While he’s still struggling to catch his breath, she simply reaches into her pocket and tosses her car keys at him.

“Here, take mine. _Please_ don’t drop the cake.”

She’s gone before Stiles can even groan.

It only takes ten minutes to drive to the bakery, but another fifteen pass before Stiles can bring himself to get out of the car. He can’t actually see inside from his parking spot but he’s absolutely convinced that Delivery Guy is going to be working behind the front counter and Stiles really doesn’t feel up for embarrassing himself again.

It’s only the text he gets from Scott that propels him into motion.

_hey buddy we’re home! when are you coming back?_

With a groan, Stiles gets out of the car and starts making his way across the parking lot. It’s been two months since he’s seen Scott and Kira (Skype chats notwithstanding) and frankly, that’s too damn long. The quicker he can get back home with the cake, the quicker they can all start catching up.

He continues walking as he sends Scott a quick reply, telling him he’ll be back in a few minutes. By the time he sends it off, he’s right outside the door of the bakery.

And Delivery Guy is behind the counter.

It’s too late to turn back now; Stiles’ fingers are literally on the door handle and when he looks back up through the window, Delivery Guy is staring at him and, unless Stiles is imagining things, his face is _definitely_ a little red.

Stiles wonders if Beacon Hills has a history of spontaneously appearing sinkholes, because he could really go for being swallowed up by one.

He steps inside and is greeted by both a rush of warm heat and the tinkle of bells over the door. There’s absolutely no one else inside and delaying is only going to make things worse, so he quickly crosses the small space, doing his best to look at a point just over the man’s shoulder.

“Here for more cupcakes?” Delivery Guy says and just like that, the speech Stiles has been composing in his head is completely wiped away.

“You remembered?” he finally manages to blurt out.

“I don’t get a lot of deliveries where I have to catch someone,” the man says with a slight smirk. “We actually just finished a new batch.”

Stiles’ stomach growls in approval, but he forces himself to ignore it.

“Actually, I’m here to pick up a cheesecake for Melissa McCall,” he says. The man nods before disappearing behind the swinging door that blocks the kitchen from the front of the store. Stiles collapses into the nearest chair and simply stares into the glass display case under the cash register.

He is officially not leaving the house for the rest of the holiday season, even if Melissa asks him to.

When the man comes back, Stiles’ jaw drops. He knew that Melissa was planning on celebrating in style, but the cake in the man’s arms is _huge_. There’s also a box sitting on top, dwarfed by the size of the cake.

“What’s in there?” Stiles asks.

“Oh. That’s for you. It’s one of the unsold cupcakes from last night. I figured you might appreciate it more than the raccoon that keeps trying to break into our dumpster.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open before he can stop himself. He picks up the small box and gently pries open the lid. Sure enough, there’s a single red velvet cupcake in the box and even if it’s a day old, his stomach growls again.

(He’s already consumed all the ones Malia and Lydia sent him. They’d barely lasted twelve hours.)

Impulsively, he sticks his hand across the counter, nearly bashing it off the cash register.

“I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.” Derek’s grip is strong enough to make Stiles’ knuckles groan, but he moves his hand below the counter before shaking the pain out. He pays for the cake with the money Melissa gave him and as soon as he picks it up, he realizes something.

He’s almost definitely going to drop it.

Sure, he didn’t park that far away, but before he even gets to the car, he’s going to have to bang the door open with his hip, which will probably make the cupcake box fall. Once he gets back outside, he has to cross a parking lot pitted with holes and marked by concrete dividers.

It’s starting to get dark and all it will take for the night to turn into an absolute disaster will be for Stiles to miss just one of those holes.

He swallows a lump that tastes an awful lot like his pride before awkwardly turning around, adjusting his arms underneath the massive cake.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

Without saying a word, Derek comes around the counter and easily lifts the cake from his arms. Stiles jogs ahead of him to grab the door and they set off across the parking lot.

“So, Derek,” Stiles says, cradling his cupcake box in one hand, “have you been working here long? Because I used to come here all the time and I think I’d remember seeing you around.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Derek replies dryly and, once again, Stiles hopes for the ground to swallow him up. “I just started a few weeks ago. My sister bought the place and needed some extra help.” Stiles nods and opens his mouth but before he can respond, his foot snags on a pothole. He flails his arms for balance and the package containing his cupcake goes flying but amazingly, his face never meets the tarmac. After a few moments, he realizes it’s because there’s something (or someone, rather) tightly gripping the back of his shirt with one hand, cake effortlessly balanced on the other. When Stiles twists his head around, he catches Derek’s eye and that’s all it takes to make his face heat up.

He’s _seriously_ getting sick of this whole blushing thing.

“Seriously man, what’s with the reflexes?” he asks once Derek releases his grip on his shirt.

“Natural talent.” Stiles snorts before turning his attention to the cupcake box. When he pulls the lid open, one glimpse is all it takes to show him that while the cupcake isn’t squished, the icing is smeared all over the inside of the box.

“I can get you another one if you want.” Stiles whips around and is immediately taken aback by how damn _serious_ Derek looks, like Stiles dropped a expensive vase instead of a cupcake. “There’s still plenty of extra ones.”

“This is fine,” Stiles says, reaching inside the box and swiping a chunk of icing off the side. “Besides, I don’t want you getting in trouble with your sister.”

“She took the night off,” Derek replies. “Tonight, I don’t have to answer to anyone.” Stiles is sure that Derek doesn’t mean to insinuate anything, but Stiles still has to look away, rubbing vigorously at the back of his warm neck.

“It’s just over here,” he mutters, continuing to walk in the direction of his car.

When they reach the car, Stiles unlocks the back seat so that Derek can slide the cake inside. After a moment, Stiles decides to put the cupcake box on top (otherwise he’ll end up with icing all over Melissa’s steering wheel) and as he leans in, his shoulder bumps against Derek’s. He mutters an apology but when he stands up, he’s almost certain that Derek is blushing again.

It’s a good look on him, Stiles has to admit.

“You know, if you catch me again, I might have to buy you dinner.” By the time he realizes what he’s said, it’s way too late to take the words back. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he manages to spew a few nonsensical words before he finally just shakes his head and turns to get into the car.

Before he can wrap his fingers around the handle, Derek clears his throat.

“I can’t say that I’d mind that,” he says. By the time Stiles turns around, Derek has already started to head back towards the bakery, but he turns back long enough to flash Stiles a closed mouth smile.

Stiles grins the entire way home and falls asleep that night coming up with various reasons to visit the bakery as soon as possible.

****

**iii.**

Two days later, when his dad asks him to pick up some bread, Stiles decides to go to the bakery instead of the grocery store. He parks closer this time and before he even gets out of the car, he can see Derek inside, leaning against the counter and flipping through what looks like a magazine. Stiles jogs across the parking lot, hoping that his eagerness isn’t _that_ obvious; it’s been awhile since he actually went on a date, even longer since it was a date that he managed to score himself and not one that his friends set up.

He makes it two steps into the bakery, barely enough time for the bell over the door to stop ringing, before he trips over his own feet.

This time, Derek doesn’t manage to catch him. Instead, Stiles faceplants _hard_ , chin smacking against the tiles. His teeth catch against his tongue, flooding his mouth with the taste of blood. By the time he manages to roll himself onto his back, Derek has come around the counter and is kneeling beside him, eyebrows pulled together.

“Stiles? Are you alright?” he asks. Stiles nods and as he sits up, Derek’s broad hand slides between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll be fine. Except for my pride. And my dignity,” he mutters, wiping away some blood from his chin. “This is probably a bad time to ask if you still wanted to go out for dinner with me.”

“Maybe not the best time,” Derek says. “But the answer is still yes.” The pressure of his hand on Stiles’ back increases slightly and Stiles can’t help but lean back into it.

“Awesome,” he replies, trying to keep himself from rambling. “Is there anywhere you want to go? We can to a movie, if that works better for you.”

“Dinner is fine and I’ve got no preference as to where,” Derek replies, getting to his feet and extending a hand to help Stiles up. “But if we’re going to be making plans, I should probably give you my number.”

“That would definitely make things easier,” Stiles says. The only thing that keeps him from grinning is the knowledge that he probably has blood between his teeth. “I’ll give you mine, you give me yours?”

Stiles barely manages to make it back to his house before he sends Derek a text. It’s quick, just a simple _hey_ , but by the time he presses send, he feels like he’s going to burst. When he heads inside, his whole family is gathered in the living room, watching what looks an awful lot like Die Hard.

“I have a date Monday night!” he announces, earning himself a thumbs up from both Scott and Kira.

“You can tell us all about it, once you come back with the bread,” his dad says, swiveling his head and pointedly glancing at Stiles’ empty hands.

This time, Stiles just goes to the grocery store.

****

**iv.**

He manages to score reservations at one of the fancier Italian places downtown. He actually makes an effort with his appearance; he gets Kira to help him with his hair and he wears the nicest button-down he owns. He gets there early and while he waits for Derek, he shifts back and forth on his feet outside of the building, shivering slightly under his thin jacket.

Derek is very much worth the wait.

He shows up wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket and Stiles swears that his jaw actually drops to the ground. His stubble is also thicker than usual and Stiles wonders how it would feel pressing against his palm.

Maybe he’ll find out later, if he plays his cards right.

Their table is at the back of the restaurant, in a slightly sunken dining area. There’s a small set of steps leading down into it and Stiles is so busy trying to balance gaping at Derek and following the waiter that he completely misses the first step. It makes his stomach drop but he manages to mostly keep his balance, only because once again, Derek grabs the back of his shirt.

Stiles flashes a smile over his shoulder. Derek raises an eyebrow that clearly means really? but his hand doesn’t leave Stiles’ back until they get to their table.

While they’re waiting for their food, they talk. Stiles finds out that Derek has two sisters and that he’s been baking since he was a kid. He also discovers that Derek lived in New York for most of his life, but that’s he’s starting to warm to Beacon Hills.

He flashes Stiles a small smile after he says it and even though it’s cheesy as hell, Stiles finds himself lost for words for only the fifth time in his life.

When the food comes, Stiles gorges himself on pasta and tries not to think about how much the meal is going to cost. They order a bottle of wine as well (Stiles lets Derek pick; all the wine he’s ever drank had been cheap, sugary stuff that left him with hellish hangovers) and by the time he polishes off his last crumb of tiramisu, Stiles is definitely feeling a bit tipsy. He finds himself leaning across the table, elbow nearly on his dessert plate, just so he can look at Derek a bit closer.

“What do you look like when you shave?” he asks, waving one hand at Derek’s stubble.

“Different,” Derek says, rolling his eyes slightly. “Maybe I’ll let you see one day.”

Stiles considers that to be a victory.

Stiles pays and manages not to trip as they walk back up the steps leading out of the restaurant. It’s gotten even colder out and he shivers as he zips his jacket up.

“If it stays this cold, maybe we’ll actually have snow on Christmas,” Stiles says, glancing up at the sky. It’s hard to tell with all the light pollution, but he thinks that he sees large, fluffy gray clouds up above.

“Maybe.” Derek’s voice sounds different and when Stiles lowers his head again, Derek is looking right at him, mouth slightly open. It looks like he’s thinking about kissing Stiles.

Or maybe that’s just projection, because Stiles _really_ wants to kiss him.

“We can wait until next time,” Derek says, stepping forward slightly. “To…” He trails off and ducks his head slightly, eyes averted towards the ground.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” Stiles asks, also stepping forward. He’s so close that he can feel the heat rolling off Derek, warm as a damn space heater.

“I’d like there to be. Sooner rather than later,” Derek replies. “Maybe sometime after Christmas.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Stiles says, trying very hard to resist pumping his fist into the air. “But you know, just in case I fall out of a tree again, maybe we shouldn’t wait until the second date.” When Derek looks up, one of his eyebrows is raised, but he’s smiling wide enough to show his teeth.

“Sounds like a good enough reason for me,” he says quietly before leaning in and kissing Stiles. Stiles closes his eyes and steps even closer as he kisses back, hands held at his sides. It’s brief but firm and by the time Derek pulls away, Stiles’ chest is aching with the need to breathe.

Or maybe it’s just from the cold, but he likes the first reason better.

“Are you going to be okay to drive?” Derek asks, still close enough for his breath to ghost over Stiles’ lips.

“I took a cab,” he replies. “My stepbrother said he’d come get me. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“So we have a little bit more time?”

“I thought you wanted to wait until our second date.“

“Like you said,” Derek replies, “you might fall out of a tree between now and then. Might as well stock up now.”

Well, that’s a justification Stiles can get behind.

By the time Scott pulls up in front of the restaurant, Stiles’ bottom lip is swollen and he’s actually warmed up, just from being in such close proximity to Derek. He gives him one last peck before he slides into the passenger seat and he waves as they pull out of the parking lot.

“So, your date went well?” Scott asks with a grin.

“What gave it away?” Stiles replies, sinking back into the seat. “Well, the kiss I saw. And the fact you’re grinning. _And_ the fact you have stubble burn all over your face. Kind of everything, actually.”

Stiles flips down the mirror over the seat and turns on the overhead light. Sure enough, the skin around his mouth is red and rough to the touch. It’s definitely going to be sore tomorrow, but he simply shrugs and flips the mirror back up.

Still worth it.

****

**v.**

Somehow, Stiles manages to avoid falling off the ladder when he takes down all the Christmas lights. He tries to keep them as untangled as possible, but by the time he gets them all back in the box, he’s sure they’re knotted again.

The next time he _does_ fall, it’s as he’s walking hand in hand with Derek towards a movie theater for their third date. His foot slams into the curb and makes him stumble forward, but Derek simply pulls back slightly, enough to keep Stiles on his feet without yanking him.

As soon as he gets both feet back on the ground, Stiles twists around and kisses Derek. His hands don’t stay at his sides this time; they go up to Derek’s face, beard rasping against his palms. When he pulls back, he can’t stop a grin from spreading across his face.

“Seriously man, reflexes,” he says. “You’ve got to teach me how you do that.”

“Maybe they’ll wear off on you eventually,” Derek says before wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him into another kiss.

They almost miss the beginning of the movie and even though Stiles has been waiting to see Star Wars for weeks, he can’t say that he minds.

****

**+i.**

Next year, despite all his best efforts, Stiles falls out of the tree again. This time, Derek manages to catch him without dropping the box of cupcakes he’s carrying.

Stiles doesn’t ask how Derek manages it. He simply leans in and kisses Derek until he’s breathless and his dad is yelling at them from the front door.

When they open presents on Christmas Day, Derek gives his dad a new box of Christmas lights. The box proclaims that they’re tangle free, but Stiles will have to see that to believe it. Until then, he’s simply happy to enjoy the presence of his family and the warmth of Derek at his side, even if Derek tastes like eggnog.

Christmas lights may be slowly moving off the list of things he hates about Christmas, but eggnog is going to be there forever.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
